There is so much I want to say in this blog.
So much that is bothering me.
So much that makes me want to go back to before.
Before I had recovery.
Before the freedom.
All for the body and control I felt I had back then.
I realize now that, despite that I felt I was in control,
I was not.
Still, I long for the body I had,
the bones, the lack of flesh on my frame.
I know that I was not beautiful back then.
Still, I miss it.
Perhaps it's because of the weight gain,
the constant state of anxiety I've been in.
My clothes not fitting.
My watch not fitting at the beginning hole.
My mom told me I shouldn't eat so much.
Perhaps she is right.
I thought I was eating fine,
but maybe I am eating too much.
This is perhaps the most I've struggled since I've been home.
My weight had been steady.
I had no need to be worried about it.
My clothes fit. I felt beautiful.
I was happy.
Suddenly, I'm not happy.
I don't know what happened to lead up to this.
I miss Julie.
I have no one here. I'm completely alone.
I miss my best friend.
My therapist is worried about me.
She asked me if I was relapsing.
I said no.
I'm not relapsing.
I'm eating, I'm sleeping, I'm treating my body well.
It's the thoughts.
The pull of dissociation.
The need to be numb.
I cannot succumb to this eating disorder.
I cannot self-injure.
I do not want to waste what has been so kindly given to me.
What I've been blessed with.
Life is more important than this feeling that I've been having.
Yet, they are here.
Causing me to feel nothing but sorrow and anxiety.
I don't know.
I will not be like this forever.
I tell myself that every day.
This will go away.